The Sixteen-Year Crush
by Aerija
Summary: Inigo has had a crush on the tactician ever since he was a child—Robin, who is technically twenty years his senior. But in this time period, he is an adult nearly her age. This time, he is determined to make her fall in love with him. The problem is, she only sees him as the child of Olivia. A series of one-shots containing FE!RobinxInigo.
1. Chapter 1

The Sixteen-Year Crush

Inigo has always had a crush on her—the adult woman with dark, voluminous long that is tied up in a messy ponytail; and, dark oval-shaped eyes that are always calculating and, to an extent, judging. Robin, who is technically twenty years his senior. In his future, she is kind, caring, and unmarried—definitely unmarried, now that he thinks of it.

However, in this time period, she is two years his senior and he is an adult—not a child with the disease known as puppy love. The baby fat and plump cheeks have defined itself into something masculine, as well as his voice. He is, in his mind, an adult—someone who should be taken seriously. Although, it seems she still sees him as a child—the child of a dear friend, that is. It does no help when his mother treats him so.

He approaches her daily with hollow compliments and useless gifts—such as jewelry, which really has no place in war—and she merely brushes him off, sighing in annoyance. She ignores him until his pestering is enough to break her tolerance and patience. Inigo finds pleasure, however sadistic, in her frustration. Though recently, he wonders if it is this particular characteristic of his that proves his immaturity.

He sees her walking figure and swishing cloak in the distance. A book occupies her attention as she heads for her tent—the one he currently stands next to. He clears his throat and greets her when she is close, "Good evening, Robin. You look as ravishing as usual."

Her response is tepid and unfocused when she mumbles a greeting in return. She then glances up in order to confirm the owner of the voice, though there is no need. Inigo has been at her tent for over a week, his sonorous voice greeting her for the past ten evenings.

She cuts straight to the point, "What is it, Inigo?" Today has been tiring for the tactician—routing out paths, strategizing, organizing the equipment, and keeping track of any financial issues—and she is too worn to deal with any of his antics.

"I've a gift for you," he reaches into his pocket, "A vulnerary. A small gift, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless." He hands the small potion to her; his fingers reach forward to brush against the side of her hand.

Despite her foul mood, she smiles. "Thank you, Inigo. This is awfully kind of you…" she trails off. She eyes the gift suspiciously. "This isn't one of your little tricks to make me fall for you, is it?"

"What—of course not. I bought one for everyone in the army—including the men," he feigns hurt, as if her words stung, though they did to some extent.

Her expression softens into an apologetic one and she smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Inigo. I had thought you were trying to woo the women of the army again."

"I don't need such items to sway the heart of others," he brags. She rolls her eyes, but resists the temptation to comment on his ego. Instead, she says, "Still, you must have spent quite a bit of gold. This army isn't as small as it was before, you know."

"Well, I'm sure the boosted morale helps," he replies. His thinking surprises Robin; after all, his carefree and flirtatious attitude gives off the impression he thinks little of the war they are in.

"Surprised?" he asks. She begins to apologize, thinking she has offended him. Regardless of his personality, he has also dealt with the horrible realities of war. He laughs her off, and tells her, "No need for apologies. It doesn't suit a beautiful lady as you."

"Thanks for being so good-natured, Inigo," she says, embarrassed. She then reaches for the edges of her cloak and brings it closer together; she shivers when a cold wind passes. He reaches over and pulls the hood of her coat over her head; he laughs a little when she begins to fumble with it. His grip on it remains strong.

He peers into the shadows on her face and gathers the courage to say, "You really do look beautiful, Robin." She is startled by the tenderness in his voice and immediately stops her struggle. Her breath hitches and she wonders if his words are another one of his cliché one-liners.

"Well," he suddenly says, "It's getting late and I should get going. Good night, Robin." He walks off before she can reply; his face is warm and tinted red.

For once, Robin sees the silhouette of Inigo—not the shadow of a dancer's son.

* * *

Although I am a fan of FE!RobinxChrom, I also love Inigo (and Owain). If I were to have my avatar marry anyone in the second generation, it would probably be Inigo. I always feel weird marrying second generation though, because technically the avatar is much older than the children in the future.

I plan to make this a series of one-shots involving FE!RobinxInigo.

Reviews/critiques/favorites are always appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

The Sixteen-Year Crush – Chapter Two

His stomach churns when his sword cuts through the light cloth of the brigand. The weapon falls from the bandit's hand and his body crumples to the ground. The blood seeps from the wound and into the dirt, coloring the earth crimson. Inigo eyes his silver sword with revulsion, watching the red liquid drip from its edge. Unlike the Risen, human corpses remain where they lie.

"Inigo, behind you!" someone shouts. He snaps out of his demeanor and quickly jumps to the right, narrowly dodging the axe aiming for him. The brigand charges once more, and raises his axe to strike. Inigo avoids the sharp steel and swiftly retaliates with his own silver, aiming for the chest. The brigand reacts and narrowly avoids a strike to the torso, but fails to retract his weapon in time; his weapon hand crippled by a deep, bloody gash. He howls in pain, gripping his broken arm.

Inigo watches in horror, as his enemy falls to his knees. He can faintly see the white of bone sticking out from the open wound; he feels nauseated by the sight. The brigand shakily reaches for his fallen weapon, swearing revenge on the dark-haired mercenary. He stands up clumsily, nearly tripping, and swings the axe about. It is clear his left hand is significantly weaker than his right. The brigand slowly steps forward—his steps measured and careful—as Inigo steps back, startled by his enemy's willpower. He feels pity for the dying man in front of him, and wonders if he should allow his enemy to escape. The decision is wretched from him however, when a bolt of lightning strikes the brigand dead, a burn mark imprinting his tanned chest. The air around him continues to simmer with the heat of electricity.

"Are you hurt?" Robin appears with a Thoron tome in hand.

"N-no—No, I'm fine," he stutters. His heart thuds loudly as he glances at the cadaver near him. Its eyes are wide open, staring listlessly upwards. The sky—the peaceful, blue sky—is reflected in its pupils. His stomach churns once again, and he resists the urge to vomit. She speaks to him, but the noise in his head—the blood rushing to his ears—forces her to reiterate, "Did you hear me, Inigo? I want you to be a part of the rear."

"W-what?" He is taken aback. "I've been doing fine in the vanguard, why change me now?"

She frowns and says, "Get back to the rear and stay with your mother—that's an order." He resists the urge to remind the tactician of his father, who is a part of the rearguard, and clenches his fist. He concludes that he has no power to deny the army's tactician—it would be foolish otherwise—and complies, albeit reluctantly.

"Lon'Qu!" she shouts, "You're with me!" The silent swords master nods and runs to the front, passing his son. Inigo shrinks under his stare, and feels disappointment welling up inside him. As he arrives, his mother approaches and places a hand on his shoulder. In a soft tone, she says, "You'll be alright."

He nods and attempts to swallow the bile in his throat.

* * *

He sits, hunched over, on his cot with his hands to his forehead. His breathing is shaky, as day's earlier battle replays in his head. A failure, he thinks, for his cowardice—his weakness and inability to kill such an easy target. Yet, his emotions—the humanity in him—override his judgment. He then thinks of Robin, and the look in her eyes—dull, uncaring, and lacking—when she sees the corpse; it is unnerving. In his memories, she is someone vivid, lively, and full of love.

He never thought her to be so ruthless.

"Inigo, may I enter?" A voice interrupts his stupor. He breathes out her name, and scowls at his disheveled appearance. Hurriedly, he irons out any wrinkles in his outfit and corrects stray strands of hair. He then casts aside previous emotions and prepares a façade. Inigo calls for her once he is certain he is without flaws.

"Well, hello there," he greets her flirtatiously. "Have you finally fallen for me?"

"You hesitated," she abruptly states.

"Pardon?"

"Earlier in today's battle," she clarifies. "You could have killed him, so why didn't you?" Her head is tilted upwards as her eyes—fierce and unwavering—meet his. Inigo meets her gaze head-on—he then notices she is shorter than him, which is silly considering the circumstances—but breaks contact as he stares behind her and through the open tent flap. It is a lovely night—the stars are out and the moon shines dimly—perfect for a moonlit dinner.

"Perhaps we could discuss this over dinner or—" his words die out when she speaks his name. He sighs and falls onto his cot—the sheets wrinkle underneath his weight. He sits, hunched over once more, with his hands to his face and elbows on his knees. She sits beside him, worried, and places a hand on his back.

"They're humans aren't they?" he finally whispers. He turns his head slightly to look at her. Robin bites the bottom of her lips as she thinks of an appropriate reply. "Yes, they are humans," she begins, careful with her words, "But they are responsible for the destruction of many homes and families."

"Don't they have families though? Aren't we responsible as well?" he snaps. He thinks of crying widows and fatherless children, as well as himself and the others.

"Inigo, you mustn't pity them—especially in the midst of battle, otherwise—" she is cut off.

"I'll get killed. I know—my father said the same."

"If you know, then you shouldn't have had to ask," she states, somewhat bitter. He is slightly hurt by her response and ponders on it. He decides it is best if he does not dawdle on the topic any longer. He then grins, despite the mood, and says, "Well, alright then." He stands to stretch.

She is displaced by his sudden mood swing and mumbles an unintelligent, "Huh?"

"It's getting late, you know. Rumors may pop up if you stay any longer—unless, you want to sleep together?" he says seductively, and winks at her. She blushes and angrily throws the nearest object—a pillow—at him. He laughs when it hits the wall next to him.

"I'll be leaving now," she huffs, and exits the tent. He chuckles at her childish behavior and picks up the fallen pillow. He places it back on his cot and prepares for sleep. As he removes his armor and boots, Inigo contemplates the tactician's reply. He wonders if, she too, feels guilt for the enemy. He then shakes his head of thoughts. In war, it seems, one must be void of such emotions.

* * *

First of all, I am so glad that this story got such great feedback—it really made my day/week, haha. Also, I will continue writing this in present tense because writing in past tense feels awkward currently (sorry!). However, when I finish these one-shots, I will definitely go back and edit everything.

Secondly, this is my first time writing an action/fighting(ish) scene.

Apologies if the ending seems lame compared to the beginning. In my mind, Inigo is someone who is likely to avoid any and all conflicts, especially with the one he loves, if possible.

Reviews/favorites/feedback/critique is always appreciated!


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